


Hate the sinner, not the sin

by tequilatuesdays



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Kavinsky is an asshole while Ronan battles his inner guilt and fears, M/M, it's just a blowjob... in church... don't freak out...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tequilatuesdays/pseuds/tequilatuesdays
Summary: Ronan Lynch is all sharp exterior, clenched fists and a jawline K isn’t afraid to cut his tongue on. His mouth looks capable of either doing incredibly filthy things to his body or take him apart with just a few choice words. Right now however, he seems lost for words.
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Hate the sinner, not the sin

### 

_“There are always two voices in our heads, the good and the bad. The tricky part is to figure out which one of them is doing the talking."_  
― **Saahil Prem**

The confessional never used to scare Ronan when he was little. It was a pesky task he couldn’t wait to get done with as quickly as possible. 

It reeked of incense and old nervous sweat; a tiny booth oozing guilt and regret from every crevice in the chipped wood. The kneeler wasn’t padded and the hard surface made him squirm, so he lacklusterly confessed to his juvenile sins - getting into typical boyish mischief, arguing with his older brother, his disobedience towards his parents, stealing a lighter from his dad so he could light a couple of firecrackers he found in one of the outbuildings at the Barns.  
Niall had stopped him just in time. They were _dream firecrackers_. 

A short absolution blessing and five “Hail Mary’s” later and all would be forgiven. 

He is sitting in one of the front pews, the church dimly lit by the moonlight shining through the tall stained glass windows and a couple of candles next to the altar.  
Shadows flutter against the high stone walls and the only sound he can hear is his own breathing, deep and steady. 

Ronan can’t remember the last time he went to confession.  
He has darker sins to own up to now. More dangerous, less predictable. They weigh heavy on his heart and sometimes spiral him into a bottomless rabbit hole of self-destruction or just destruction in general.  
He can’t imagine kneeling and laying himself bare. The knowledge of being a weapon constantly tugs at the back of his mind. All his carefully protected secrets could cause unspeakable harm. To himself. To the people he loves deeply.  
He needs to find salvation in someone other than Jesus. 

How is he supposed to explain that he can dream virtually _anything_ into existence? Magical objects, dangerous, impossible even. How he can bring back live animals, people! Or his night horrors. Cruel monsters with savage claws and razor sharp beaks, tearing apart cars and humans alike. 

Should he confess that his loyalty for Gansey often borders on infatuation? How he sometimes wishes he could go back to the time they first moved into Monmouth together after Niall died, and how Gansey would slip into Ronan’s bed in the middle of the night, wordlessly pulling the duvet over both their bodies and drying his tears with the sleeve of his t-shirt. How he would literally dream him the world, if it meant seeing him happy and content for the rest of their lives.  
Losing Gansey would be worse than any nightmare he could ever pull from his head. 

Or how he thinks about Adam’s hands and that he wants to kiss them; not just kiss them but put them to his mouth and keep them there, worship them, run his lips along each fingertip, along the protruding blue veins on the back of his hand. Thinks about holding Adam against a wall while he lets his tongue touch the hollows of his throat, his collarbones while carefully pressing his thigh into Adam’s crotch.  
Thinks about sucking purple marks into his skin that would label him _MINE_ for days, weeks. He remembers the exact shape of his lips, wonders furiously what his tongue would taste like in his mouth.  
It sometimes keeps him up at night. 

And how in the world would he ever explain Kavinsky?

The name alone fills Ronan with rage and a deep feeling of self-loathing that is only amplified by K’s cocky attitude and the fact that he is almost the exact mirror opposite of Adam and the things Ronan does when he is not chaperoned by Gansey.  
They are both incapable of engaging with their feelings in a productive manner. It’s all aggression and avoidance, lashing out and below the belt jokes.  
Every street race turns into a pissing contest, every party into a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse.  
All this, mixed with the blackout drinking, the pills, the coke… 

If you touched Joseph Kavinsky, you would burn yourself. And it’d be your own damn fault. 

Ronan’s thoughts are interrupted by heavy footsteps coming to a stop right next to him. He suddenly finds himself surrounded by the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber - a familiar scent he has come to love and loathe at the same time. 

“Forgive me, father, for I have been a _very naughty boy_.” Kavinsky’s voice booms through the church.  
Something hot is working its way up Ronan’s chest, creeping into his throat, up his cheeks. Repulsion festers in the pit of his stomach. Or is it the irrational desire that gains control of any judgement and reasoning as soon as Kavinsky’s near him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames when you walked in.”  
“Funny, Lynch.”  
Ronan turns to face Kavinsky, the pew creaking under the shifting weight.  
“What are you doing here, K?”  
“You didn’t answer your phone and I felt lonely. So I drove to your place, had a friendly little chat with Dick... I hope your girlfriend’s not the jealous type.” 

Some people like to sit and watch the world burn. Others like to be responsible for it.  
Joseph Kavinsky is the latter.

“Why. Are. You. Here?” Ronan’s annoyed tone fits perfectly with the scowl forming around his eyes.

“I thought we could continue from where we left off the other night.“ Kavinsky lets his right hand wander over Ronan’s left arm, up his shoulder. It comes to rest on the back of his neck, rubs against the scraggly hair of his freshly shaven head.  
“We kinda got distracted. What do you say, Lynch, wanna get a little closer to God?”  
“You came here to get fucked?” Ronan’s eyes dart towards the life-size crucifix hanging high over the altar. Almost flinches at his own boldness. This is not the place for swearing. THIS is NOT the place for sex.  


“Lynch, I came here to see if I can get you to scream my name loud enough so the God that abandoned you can hear it all the way up in heaven.”  
Ronan Lynch is all sharp exterior, clenched fists and a jawline K isn’t afraid to cut his tongue on.  
His mouth looks capable of either doing incredibly filthy things to his body or take him apart with just a few choice words. Right now however, he seems lost for words.

He slowly reaches behind him to get rid of Kavinsky’s hand on the back of his neck, stands up and tries to push past him out of the pew. Finds himself staring into K’s bloodshot eyes and lets his gaze wander to his mouth; lips twisted into a self assured smirk.  
Kavinsky steps even closer and presses his palm flat against Ronan’s throat, his face hovering right in front of his and Ronan wants to smash his forehead into his teeth to wipe that smug smile off his face.

“Afraid to make little baby Jesus cry?”

“If you don’t stop talking like this in here I will -” Kavinsky pulls him into a rough kiss and Ronan lets himself surrender for just a moment, falls apart under his lips, bucks into the soft touch of K’s hand on his throat and presses his own hand against it, squeezing K’s fingers. It’s like he’s begging for a tighter grip and K concurs, squeezes until he feels Ronan’s pulse race under his skin.

The kiss grows rougher, harder, and Kavinsky grinds his knee into Ronan’s groin until soft, muffled moans echo through the church. When K slips his hand between the waistband of Ronan’s boxers and the sensitive skin of his lower belly, Ronan bites down on K’s lip, draws blood. 

“Not here!”

Kavinsky smears the blood along his lower lip with his thumb, runs his tongue over it. No stranger to the taste of his own blood.

Ronan walks off toward the chancel, needs to get away from K, away from his demanding hands, his swollen lips. Tries to clear his head, to ignore the ravenous desire coursing through his body and will away his treacherous hard-on.  
Tries to talk himself down from doing something unethical just to quench the thrill of committing a sin for Joseph Kavinsky. 

“I’m not doing this here, K.” 

He leans his body against the cool stone of the altar. It does nothing to take the edge off the heat surging through his body. 

“You know you want to though, don’t you?” Kavinsky’s voice grows quieter with every step he takes toward Ronan. “Be with me!” - barely a whisper now and K sinks to his knees right in front of Ronan.  
He lets K peel him out of his jeans, reluctantly, pulls his black shirt over his head and flings it carelessly behind him, then reaches down, palms himself through his boxers, then shoves them below his hips. 

Ronan looks down to see Kavinsky smile his most self-righteous smile and lick his lips. He already knows that this is all he’ll be able to think about later. On the drive back to Monmouth. In the shower, trying to get rid of K's scent on his skin. When he’s trying to go to sleep. He hates the thought of Kavinsky taking up even the smallest amount of room in his head. 

In this moment, however, the desire to feel the heat of his mouth around him overpowers any kind of resentment he has for him.

"I bet Dick never tells you how fucking beautiful you are." Kavinsky's gaze is fixed on Ronan's erection.

He scoffs, then taps his cock against K’s lips.

“Open.” 

He slowly pushes his cock past his lips, along the length of his rough tongue to the back of K’s throat, keeps pushing until K’s nose is buried in the dark hair of his groin and holds him there until K desperately shoves at his hips when he needs to catch a breath. Ronan pulls out, a long string of saliva mixed with precum hangs out of his mouth and down his chin.

“Again. Open.”

Ronan’s mind goes blank and for a moment all he can see, all he can feel is K’s mouth on him, tight and warm. Sinks deeper into him and feels his throat work around his length.

This is where he finds salvation. If only for tonight. If only for right now.

It’s not long before Ronan pulls out and comes all over his face, his lips.  
He feeds some of the cum into K’s mouth with his thumb, runs his fingertips over the side of his face then bends down to kiss him ever so softly.

“We’re going to hell for this.” Ronan says while he is dragging his jeans up his legs, hastily pulling on the zipper, ignoring the top button and fishing his t-shirt from behind the altar instead.

“I’ll let you drag me to hell if it means you’ll hold my hand, lover.” 

“Shut the fuck up.”

Kavinsky leaves after he smokes a cigarette and throws the butt into the stoup, turns around to look at Ronan who has sat back down in one of the center pews, his head buried in his hands. 

“See you on the streets, Lynch.”

When Ronan exits the church and walks toward the BMW, he finds a little cardboard model of St. Agnes sitting on the hood of his car; attached to it is a little handwritten note.

“tell DICK I said hi”

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I finished reading TDT, I can't stop thinking about Rovinksy and what could have been between them...  
> This is also my first time ever writing for this fandom and I am VERY NERVOUS!


End file.
